


Lingering

by notenoughtogivebread



Series: Klaine Advent 2014 [11]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, after season 5, mentions of assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-04-11 17:51:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4445972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notenoughtogivebread/pseuds/notenoughtogivebread
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Klaine Advent 2014. Old habits die hard. Blaine just worries sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lingering

After Kurt recovered, the scars faded mostly, but whenever he was tired, when stressed with his work schedule or studying, when he ran his hands through his hair, on those days–when dark shadows were visible under his eyes—on those days Blaine could see it. Against the pallor of Kurt’s exhausted face, right up there, dipping below the hairline: a thin red curving line, the reminder of a brick and brutality. 

And as he tried to get Kurt to take it easy, his eyes would be drawn to it, his hands would trace it unthinkingly as he caressed Kurt’s face. This was not always well-received.

“Blaine, what are you looking at?”

“I’m sorry. You look—are you tired? Can I get you something to drink or give you a neck massage? You just look stressed.”

“I don’t have time for one of your neck rubs.” A flirty smile usually, so he knew he wasn’t pushing too hard. “I’m fine, Blaine. Just—stop staring at me. You’re distracting.”

And Blaine would get up and move his studying from the shared kitchen table to his desk to avoid the temptation to look. And after a bit, get up and make Kurt a calming cup of tea.

________________________________________________________

They were lying in bed, Kurt looking over a final draft for his spring Vogue project. Blaine was pretending to read an academic article on Kit Marlowe, but mostly he was worrying about Kurt—again. His fiancé had run his hands through his stiff hair and the scar stood out, livid in the light from the screen. Blaine hated it, hated thinking of the brutes hitting his Kurt, of course. But he also hated the thought of an emergency room surgeon taking a tiny needle and thread and sewing Kurt up like he was just some torn garment, some broken thing. It made him queasy to think of the needle passing through the skin, the tiny stitches bringing the parts of Kurt together.

“Blaine. What are you looking at?”

“You. Your head. When you’re really tired and stressed, I can see that scar.”

“And?”

“I don’t know. It makes me worry.”

“Well, don’t. I’m fine. I’m here, and I’m a big boy, if one who feels marginally less attractive because of how fixated you are on one tiny thing.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” he mumbled, slumping back to his article.

“I thought we went over this. I don’t need you to protect me.”

“I didn’t—did I say anything about that?” He sat up sharply. “There’s no alley here for me to run into, anyway, Kurt. Just an exhausted fiancé who hasn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in a week and—“

“Okay. Blaine, I _have_ to finish this before I can sleep. And I _have_ to get up at 6 so I can get to the barre before Cassandra July’s class take over that studio. I have things to do. I _can’t_ afford to take it easy.”

“Then I’d wish you’d let me take care of you.”

“How? Your schedule is almost as crazy. I know that Elizabethan drama paper is kicking your ass right now. And, okay, you haven’t had to add the diner and its crazy shifts to your schedule, but that’s because your little piano tutoring business has picked up. So much that you’re always late to dinner.”

“You’re mad that I’m late for dinner.”

“I’m mad that you act like I’m the one who needs to be babied. I don’t. I’m fine.”

“I don’t want to–” He turned away to get out of bed. “How am I supposed to do this _without_ worrying? How did your dad do it?”

Kurt was annoyed now. “Okay, first of all, you’re not my dad.” His gaze was heavy on Blaine’s back as he sighed in frustration. “And second of all, all this worrying just wastes time. We have things to do, baby.”

Blaine dropped his head into his hands. How could he tell Kurt all the things he saw when he saw that scar—boots and bricks and high school boys yelling nasty slurs—and more, everywhere: even on Netflix a baseball bat hitting a blonde head, life ebbing out, and what if what if what if…


End file.
